


our song

by xShieru



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crushes, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Slow Burn, implied seungchuchu and victuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8924899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xShieru/pseuds/xShieru
Summary: 'The mystery skater throws his head back, hair flying back to its rightful place, his chest heaving. He laughs and bows to his small audience of spectators and then curtsies, ankles crossed. Guang Hong watches him lazily skate to what seems to be his coach, offering her student a hair tie. He thinks that if gazes were capable to set fire to things from sheer intensity, right now the ice rink would be nothing more than a puddle at the laughing boy’s ankles.'-The story of how Guang Hong Ji met Leo de la Iglesia.





	1. Le parfum des fleurs

**Author's Note:**

> this is for all of the 3.5 leoji fans. 2 of them are my betas. together we are strong.  
> enjoy.

Guang Hong dislikes flying. The lack of movement makes him stiff and his neck aches from those plush travel pillows. Then there’s the obnoxious buzzing in his ears, the little kid kicking the back of his seat, the snoring coach, the lack of signal in his phone. Movies are a small relief when it comes to wasting time, but watching more than a few in a row gives him intense headaches and the sound in his ears intensifies. He wonders whether travelling by first class makes a difference. He stops thinking about it the moment he remembers just how much the tickets cost.

Their journey to Toronto, Canada, is expensive enough as it is. He hates remembering the frown on his father’s face as he was signing the papers for Guang Hong’s summer training camp and then the forced smile to reassure his ecstatic coach.

“One day your son will become the hero of China, Mr. Ji. There are no doubts in my mind,” is all that the woman says and bows politely, telling Guang Hong to go back to his room to pick up his duffel bag. Training can’t wait; it’s already bad enough when he has schoolwork to deal with. Guang Hong obediently pads out, his mother pulling him in for a hug in the hallway a moment later, catching him off guard.

“We’re so proud,” she says, pressing him against her bosom - an unusual display of affection in their family.

He’s excited, he cannot deny that, but the exhaustion and the thirteen-hour long flight are already taking their toll on Guang Hong’s lithe body. He wants nothing more than to fall asleep, but he can’t. The sound of the AC won’t let him. Listening to music wears him out even more; eventually it annoys him and makes the burning sensation behind his eyelids intensify.

He wishes he could be more like his coach. The woman conks out the moment she’s stuck in a moving piece of transportation.

He’s been out of the country, multiple times in fact. ‘Someone as aspiring as him shouldn’t worry about money’, or so the coaches and other people say. All he should focus on is improving and winning more medals. More first places. More glory for China.

However, he’s never been in a training camp outside his homeland before. Canada is located on the other side of the world, a whole different continent, and that prospect alone makes him giddy and a little unsure. Will the training regime be hard? Different? What will the people be like? Will he be able to keep up with the rest? Make his coach proud? Make his parents think that they’ve made the right choice by choosing to fund this trip?

A few quick searches provide him with breath-taking Canadian imagery – Toronto seems far less clustered compared to Guang Hong’s hometown, he likes the idea of that – and a discussion with his coach helps him pick out the spots he wants to visit. He hopes that the local greasy food will revive him. He’s always wanted to try out burgers in this part of the world.  

With the thought of sweet _sweet_ food in mind, Guang Hong drifts into a restless state that couldn’t be called sleep no matter how you look at it. Thoughts of burgers and fries soothe his fraying nerves whenever he thinks about the inescapable social interactions with fellow skaters. All of their conversations will most likely be held in English and while Guang Hong has mentally prepared for this with a book regarding proper English grammar held in one hand and his player filled with American music in the other, he dreads the thought of messing up. Hates the mental image of others making fun of his accent and lack of vocabulary, absolutely despises the concept of miscommunication.

If he doesn’t find anyone to talk to there, any friends or simply new people to make memories with, he thinks that at least he’ll have fun by himself, eating foreign fast food until his stomach won’t be able to hold any more. It’s comforting really.

Or so he tells himself as anxiety worms its way into the pit of his churning gut. The back of his seat gets kicked again. His coach lets out another sharp, unladylike snore.

Guang Hong gives up on his measly attempt to rest and stuffs the pink earbuds into his ears, letting the soothing music of a certain movie drown out the ringing.

* * *

 

Jetlag, buses and fries are a bad combination.

His coach scolds him in grumbling Chinese as Guang Hong heaves into the nearest trashcan, right in front of their hotel. Embarrassing, one might say, but he’s close to dying – knees weak and buckling, eye bags under brown glassy eyes, stomach now empty and even more upset than before.

What a great start.

His coach says hello to one of the people leaving the hotel, a boy his age by their side. Guang Hong meets his eye before dipping down and continuing to soil the poor trashcan with the remains of his lunch. ‘What a great first impression’, he thinks bitterly, wiping at his mouth.

* * *

 

“Here,” his coach says and sticks out two pills and a bottle of water. She doesn’t seem pleased with her pupil’s state. Thankfully they didn’t have to worry about carrying the bags to their rooms. Her frown is a tad disapproving when Guang Hong ungratefully swipes the pills out of her palm and downs half of the bottle in one go.

“I hate travelling.” He winces at the sourness in his mouth and feels more exhausted than ever. It’s only 3:40pm.

She scoffs. “No more greasy food until you get better.”

‘Why do you have to take away the only joy I still have left’ he’d say, but he knows his boundaries and he’s not that dead nor does he have a death wish.

She fusses some more and leaves him to crash.

* * *

 

There’s nothing… foreign about the skating rink. Seems like one thing stays true no matter what part of the world it is. It gives him comfort - the black laces of his skates held in his damp palms, the pleasant chill brushing against his naked forearms the moment he sheds his country’s jersey. His coach is mingling, talking to others, smiling and laughing, sharing stories of their pupils and bragging about their achievements. Honestly, like a bunch of parents taking their kids to a playdate on ice.

There are a lot of teens of various ethnicities that seem to be Guang Hong’s age, bits and pieces of different languages echo across the rink. Most of the skaters are already warming up, some working on exercises, teaming up with others, asking for help with stretches and whatnot, bonding, making _new friends._

Guang Hong has yet to talk to a single person here. He stands still, steady on his skates, shyly looking around and evaluating others. A group of tall teens pass by him, one of the guys roughly catching his side. The rude guy doesn’t even spare him a single look, his English is loud and obnoxious, bragging about something. Guang Hong is nothing but small fry to those guys.

The hit leaves his shoulder a little numb and his confidence plummets down. He rubs the aching spot. If everyone’s mean like that, well, he’d much rather be by himself for the next two weeks. He firmly ignores the encouraging look that his coach sends his way – obviously, she didn’t notice those skaters treating her student badly. If she has, she probably thinks that roughhousing is normal around here. This isn’t _China_ and Guang Hong is far too sweet to go around friendless and a little directionless. Sometimes she focuses on the upsides so much that Guang Hong doubts she knows him at all or at least what’s actually good for him as a person instead of skater. He’s her _little hero._

Honestly, it’s smothering sometimes.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he runs into another skater with a soft ‘oof’. However, this one doesn’t treat him roughly and steadies him, one arm carefully avoiding the bruised shoulder.

“Whoopsies, there we go,” the skater says with a happy note to his voice. “Those guys were awfully rude to you. Probably noticed that you’re a first-timer. I hope your shoulder is fine.”

Guang Hong gapes like a fish pulled out of water, mouth opening and closing a few times, alarms blaring in his head, cheeks pink. He recognizes the skater, even if they had only competed once he still developed mad respect for the other teen. Before he can embarrass himself any further, he steps away and bows, trying to get his grasp on English. “Thank you.”

Phichit Chulanont, Thailand’s rising figure skating star, waves it away with a warm smile stretching his handsome face. “No problem, new kid! Happens all the time.”

“People running into you?” Guang Hong asks cheekily, mustering a shy smile of his own.

“That too,” Phichit laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks around as though searching for someone and focuses back on Guang Hong’s shorter frame. “Rough start? Let me guess - you don’t know what to do with all this mess happening around?”

Guang Hong is thankful that the other is talking in comparably simple sentences. He’d rather not remember the awkward silences that happened whenever one of the other coaches asked him something about his promising career. He didn’t get half of the fancy words spoken to him.

“Yeah… there are a lot of people here and… I’ve yet to find anyone friendly,” Guang Hong confesses, shooting a quick glance at the rude teens from before. The people gathered around them seem just as annoying and loudmouthed. He wouldn’t fit in there even if he wanted to.

None too gently, Phichit claps him on the back and throws a familiar arm over his shoulders. Guang Hong wonders if he should feel uncomfortable, caged even, unused to such open displays of affection but he finds himself not one bit bothered by Phichit’s overly-familiar approach – if anything, it makes him somewhat happy that there are people out there who honestly want to do that. “In that case - Phichit at your service!”

“I know,” he lets it slip and feels like clapping a hand over his traitorous mouth. The Thai boy only blinks at him innocently. “We’ve competed in the past. I didn’t make it to the podium that year.” Phichit came in first, a beautifully carved medal hanging off his neck, a stark contrast against his dark blue flowy costume.

Phichit seems a little guilty by his lack of memory so Guang Hong fixes himself. “It’s alright if you don’t remember me. I wasn’t…” he forgets the wording for ‘memorable competition’, “outstanding. I’ve been keeping up with your career ever since, though.”

Phichit coos, but not in a mean way, one hand pressing against his cheek as he closes his eyes. “Aww, I have a fan here!”

“I think that there are a lot of people who are your fans.”

Phichit waves a playful finger at him. “That may be true but no one would ever tell me that. It’s nice to hear something like this, honestly! Maybe I’ll even give you an autograph.” He winks at Guang Hong’s surprised expression. “But for now I’ll give you a tour and an explanation as to how things work around here, alright, um – “

“Guang Hong Ji,” he takes the cue to introduce himself and they awkwardly shake hands while Phichit is still half-draped over him. It turns into some awkward hand-hold swing. “Nice to meet you. Officially.”

“Sweet!” the Thai boy chirps and steps away, giving the other space to breathe. “Alright then, let me show you around the place first and introduce you to some of the nicer people.” He’s incapable of truly glaring but the stares he shoots at some groups are displeased to say the least.

When Guang Hong’s coach sees her student getting dragged away by an enthusiastic boy clad in black, chattering in rapid-fire English and pointing out things, she gives him a wide smile and a secretive thumbs up.

Phichit Chulanont is the first real friend Guang Hong makes on the unfamiliar ice rink.

* * *

 

Phichit is a chatterbox who loves to talk about everything and nothing all at once. He readily shows Guang Hong around the facilities, introduces him to the training regime, the schedules and switch ups, offers to help him practice jumps, and knows all kinds of gossip about every person out there.

Guang Hong is warned to stay away from the Canadians. Especially if their names start with Jean-Jacques and end with Leroy.

“He’s not terrible, but interacting with him is certainly no walk in the park either.” Phichit’s nose scrunches up as he stretches his leg, leaning over it and wiggling his slim ankle in a circular motion. Guang Hong mindlessly copies the move but with some extra strain. He’s not as boneless as his new friend seems to be.

During the first hour Guang Hong has to interrupt the other boy mid-sentence to ask him to slow down with his English, ashamed to confess that he didn’t quite catch at least a third of his grand tour. Phichit doesn’t mind, only tells him that he should’ve said something sooner and then beats himself down for being a bad guide. He promises to be clearer and then with heavily-accented Chinese tells Guang Hong that he can speak some of it too.

Phichit still slips into weird metaphors every now and then. His English is perfect and he gladly explains all of them. Guang Hong files some of the more interesting ones away in his brain for later use. It’s nice to learn new things, as strange as they are. He already knows a bunch of useless and innocent metaphors such as ‘blow someone’s roof off’, and then stuff like ‘playing a flute solo in the bathroom’ because Phichit tells him more than Guang Hong - or for that matter even he - should know.

He does not want to get on Phichit’s bad side – the Thai boy has more than enough blackmail material to last a lifetime.

Phichit introduces him to his best friend and roommate with whom he’s been practicing in Detroit under coach Celestino – Yuuri Katsuki. The older man is charming if not a little awkward and strangely out of his element – Guang Hong assumes that he’s one of the oldest here, only participating because Phichit wouldn’t quiet down about it. The man, however, has an affinity for complicated English, something he’s picked up after coming to the USA. His sentences are structured, vocabulary wide and somewhat incomprehensible to Guang Hong and unlike Phichit, he doesn’t speak a whisk of Chinese.

Guang Hong wishes he could talk to him more but not only is the other a little elusive, the language barrier seems to be in the way. While Phichit does most of the talking and sometimes word-explaining for a wide-eyed Guang Hong, Yuuri simply smiles and nods along. They do find similar topics to talk about – their anxiety and Viktor Nikiforov. Yuuri gets flustered the moment Phichit teases him and tells Guang Hong about his roommate’s crush on the world’s top skater, the unattainable Russian legend.

Hey, Guang Hong can’t blame him – at least half of the skaters he knows have a crush on that man at least to some degree. He too gets starry-eyed whenever he watches the livestreams of international figure skating competitions, sometimes even forsaking the much-needed sleep. He even has a poster or two, well, maybe not as many as Yuuri does, he thinks, when Phichit tells him the exact amount and Yuuri slaps his laughing friend’s mouth shut.

They part for their training regimes and Guang Hong focuses on his coach and the others, working hard, breaking sweat, perfecting his jumps. It’s rigorous to say the least, he isn’t graced with easily-earned five minute breaks and when he is, he pours water down his bone-dry throat like a man lost in the Sahara – his skin is positively burning and the inside of his thermal shirt is slick with sweat. Guang Hong knows that his hamstrings will be burning from the strain give or take a few days – there are so many Bielmann spins he can subject himself to, knowing that he’s not nearly as flexible as the others.

Phichit is positively glowing, black hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, but he doesn’t look tired compared to Guang Hong who rasps for breath and holds his back like an old man the moment they call it quits for the day. He’s not even winded.

Guang Hong tries not to be viciously jealous and turns down the offer to take a selfie – he looks too bad and he’d rather not see his face anywhere on the internet especially when he’s in this kind of state. He watches Phichit chase a frigid looking skater with a blank stare – Seung Gil Lee. Guang Hong vaguely remembers that Phichit had pointed him out earlier. Phichit had been hopping around and wildly waving at said boy whenever he had twizzled by and Seung Gil, surprised by Phichit’s energetic reaction, stopped himself mere centimeters away from colliding with another skater. Phichit pleads for a commemorative ‘day one: complete’ selfie, almost tackling the confused Korean from behind and happily blinding him with the flashes of his phone covered in cutesy hamster stickers.

Amazed by the other’s ability to socialize, Guang Hong follows Yuuri to the second floor showers. They’re old and the pressure’s almost non-existent so no one uses them, but he’ll take it over going home with sweat cooling against his casual clothes and the towel slap fights that occur in the first floor.

* * *

 

_‘wanna hang out??? – Phichit’_

Guang Hong looks at the text filled with emojis, some confusion seeping into his blank expression – when did the other manage to steal his phone for contact information? He turns down the offer, hoping to get a good night’s rest. They will always have the time to go sight-seeing and to hang out. Maybe by the end of it Phichit will even get bored of him. That thought makes him incredibly sad. Phichit is a good person and an even better friend, without him he’d be left alone in an unfamiliar ice rink located in a city half a world away from home.

Guang Hong turns over on his stomach and blindly pats the bedside table in order to turn off the light. The time zone hop doesn’t affect his peaceful rest.

* * *

 

The next day he barely has enough time to talk to Phichit and Yuuri. True to his worries –his back hurts and his muscles burn a little whenever he lifts his right leg, pulling it inwards. It’s the burn of success and completion though, so Guang Hong isn’t too worried, he only bites his lower lip and continues with the stretches. Some people rudely snicker over his awkward poses whenever he does combination spins and shabby toe loop landings, making him inwardly fume and mess up even more. Phichit ‘accidentally’ rams himself into one of those assholes, grin fake and apology insincere.

Guang Hong dislikes getting defended like that – he doesn’t want Phichit to end up getting disliked for standing up for the new guy like that – but the other doesn’t seem to care, valuing the comfort of his companions more. ‘Fire with fire’ he chirps, shooting him a fleeting grin and skating away, gliding over the ice with such grace that in comparison Guang Hong feels like Bambi.

The lunch break is brief, Yuuri shares a sizeable homemade bento with them – the rice looks like the hamster stickers on Phichit’s phone – and most of it is spent eating in companionable silence except for Phichit, who fumes at the others’ disrespect and drops rice everywhere. Yuuri patiently picks the white grains away with a sort of affectionate look on his face, the moment oddly domestic.

It makes Guang Hong feel like he’s intruding – not to mention just a tad jealous – so his gaze ends up drifting around from skater to skater. Most of them have left the rink for their lunches, readily roaming the town, trying out new food stands and having a great time whereas the ones staying behind were simply relaxing on the bleachers, drinking tea from thermoses and sharing sandwiches with coaches or other skaters. Some are using their free time to practice, glad for the extra space that they now have on the huge rink. One of those skaters in particular catches Guang Hong’s eye.

His form is graceful, movements flowing like water. The boy seems completely relaxed, that camel spin – today Guang Hong keeps struggling with it due to his aching lower back - is perfect, almost effortless. Guang Hong watches the rotations, silently counting and wondering how the other isn’t dizzy, posture unwavering.  The boy then straightens up, free leg stretched out before him, spinning in lazy circles of a slow sit spin.

There’s something about it that makes Guang Hong lean forward in his seat. The final element of the skater’s combination is ruined – he tries to get up into a standing position with a quick movement of his outstretched leg but the dizziness catches up to him so he simply ends up digging his toe pick into the ice, slowly halting the movement after making a graceful half-circle.

Some skaters sitting closer to the rink start clapping. Phichit yells a muffled ‘woo!’ and fistpumps while Yuuri tiredly tells him to chew his food, offering a napkin.

A curtain of chocolate-brown hair covers the skater’s shining face but even then Guang Hong notices the wide bright smile. The mystery skater throws his head back, hair flying back to its rightful place, his chest heaving. He laughs and bows to his small audience of spectators and then curtsies, ankles crossed. Guang Hong watches him lazily skate to what seems to be his coach, offering her student a hair tie.

He thinks that if gazes were capable to set fire to things from sheer intensity, right now the ice rink would be nothing more than a puddle at the laughing boy’s ankles.

Guang Hong stares at the other holding onto the ledge and sliding back and forth, chattering with his coach and sees the skater turn his way, probably feeling Guang Hong’s drilling gaze even halfway of the rink away. Their eyes are about to meet when Phichit pipes up, this time mouth clear of any rice with the potential to choke him.

“Leo de la Iglesia,” he says wistfully, wiping at the corner of his mouth with Yuuri’s napkin.

Guang Hong immediately reacts to the sound of his voice and when he refocuses his attention back on the skater, the moment is gone. He’s facing the other way.

“Huh, wha?” Guang Hong squints, unsure what the other means. Just a tad disappointing.

“The skater,” Phichit elaborates, waving a casual hand in the other’s general direction. “Leo de la Iglesia. I thought he wouldn’t show this year, seeing as I didn’t see him yesterday.”

‘Nor have I,’ Guang Hong thinks, desperately hoping to catch the skater’s attention again, ‘I’m sure I would’ve remembered someone like that’.

Yuuri cuts off his train of thought, “I’ve heard his coach talk with Coach Celestino over the phone. Said that they had some delays and personal issues to deal with. She promised to fly to Canada a day or two later.”

“Our coaches are good friends,” Phichit supplies with a light shrug. “Leo’s been in and out of sight ever since we came to Detroit. Joint practice and other competitions, though I know that he and his coach are all the way from the West Coast. The poor guy’s travelling around so much that I don’t think he remembers what his home’s like. “

“It wasn’t always like that though,” Yuuri fills in, something sad in his dark eyes. _Homesickness._ “He’s been getting pretty active lately. I don’t think he entered many competitions before, but if he had… he didn’t exactly leave a very notable mark.”

“But he’s good,” Guang Hong whispers with amazement. The sk – _Leo_ is tying his sneakers, ready to leave for the lunch break.

“You’ll see what I mean once you watch him skate for real,” Phichit says for the dramatic effect. “Speaking of activity and pushing yourself to your limits – he’s trying hard to win the right to represent his country at GP because the competition’s insane. Even worse than in Russia, except, you know, they have the wonder boy Viktor Nikiforov, so it’s clear who the representative at every more noteworthy championship is.” Phichit takes out his phone after that, clears away his hundreds of new notifications and pulls up Twitter. He searches for a tag, and hands Guang Hong the phone.

Multiple tweets from angry skating fans greet his eyes, all of them screaming about the injustices Leo faces in the league, some of them even bringing up his heritage and the ‘American ideal’.

“He’s causing a bit of an uproar online. A lot of fans are demanding justice, more acknowledgment of his achievements. Leo’s really loved and looked up to by many people and after I’ve seen him skate I can certainly sympathize with a lot of these tweets, but that’s the thing – there’s something lacking in his performances and it just won’t push him through to the GPF. He’s trying very hard to find what it is.” Phichit sighs, plucks the phone away from his friend’s stiff fingers and begins checking the notifications.

Guang Hong watches Leo leave, duffel bag secured over one shoulder, skates tied at the laces and slung over the other, and the prior admiration for the skater’s confident image gets distorted by this new story. Now that he thinks about it, Leo seemed a little awkward and honestly shocked by the positive responses, almost bashfully pleased.

“That aside, he’s a really swell guy and you should definitely talk to him.” Guang Hong sputters in mortification at such a bold proposal, face coloring. “He’s really kind and sweet, wouldn’t hurt a fly. However, I’m warning you beforehand - he might not be able to hold a decent conversation if he’s focusing real hard. Leo’s a little aloof during training camps.”

“I’ll, uh. I’ll keep that in mind.” Guang Hong nods, cursing his stutter. Yuuri gives him a strange look like he’s analyzing the younger boy’s reactions, as if he knows something that he does not and it somehow puts him under the spotlight, naked and bare. Guang Hong looks away, trying to avoid that analyzing stare. Thankfully people start pouring back in little by little, the lunch time nearing its end. He stands, glad that he has an excuse to start practice early, leaving the two friends behind.

He’s not missed, seeing as Phichit immediately pinpoints Seung Gil and waves him over and Yuuri sets out in search for their coach, packing up the chopsticks, scattered tissues and the bento box.

Guang Hong feels someone’s stare on him but instead he closes his eyes and speeds up, circling around the rink to warm up and rid himself of the image his tired brain paints - one of Leo’s curled body spinning in graceful circles.

* * *

 

It takes a whole lot of staring at Leo to pinpoint what Phichit was talking about. The other boy has the technique and the grace, his camel spins are to die for – Guang Hong still has troubles with them, for some reason his sense of balance likes betraying him – but there really is something missing.

Something relating to his performance. Sure, he’s good, he has what it takes to become a formidable rival, but it’s hard for him to sell what he wants to sell, this image that he has. It isn’t _genuine._ Lacking.

Uninspired.

Leo seems to notice it too, smiles becoming rare to the point of disappearing, frustration kicking in. On worse days he doesn’t talk to anyone but his coach. She praises him for technicalities and tries her best to give advice on choreography and other performance elements while Leo simply ties his hair back into a loose bun, shoves the earbuds back into his ears and skates again to the music that only he hears.

The image is supposed to be a sensitive one, Guang Hong notices. He knows what it’s like to skate to something you don’t believe in. The image of a tender flower that Guang Hong’s coach creates, sells to the media - it isn’t _him_ , not completely anyway. He always has a say in it though, isn’t afraid to argue and make changes, fume and storm away from the rink during early hours of the practice. It’s how he is.

Something tells him that Leo isn’t as free as he wishes to be, not as free as he tries to act it out on ice. It’s as if he’s following some incomprehensible script, only getting the main idea of the story. _Shallow._

Lacking.

He watches Leo pretend to be a drama queen on ice, expression solemn and soft, eyes unseeing, lacking any of that heart-clenching sadness that he’s trying to convey with his program. It’s beautiful to look at but painful to _watch._

The lights above them turn on. It’s getting dark. It’s dead quiet except for the humming of the ACs, the buzz of the fluorescent lights and the soft sound of skates shaving the surface of the ice, leaving snowy crystals behind when Leo closes his eyes and lands that triple toe loop. He goes over a step sequence that Guang Hong knows by heart and it jumps inside his ribcage when Leo abruptly changes the ending, sliding up to him in a pretty lunge, reaching out with a soft look the moment he stops, breathing heavily.

They’ve met eyes plenty of times during the training camp, at first either uncertain, caught off guard or completely coincidental, but then during day five Leo waved at him from the other side of the rink and Guang Hong gracelessly slipped on ice from the sheer surprise, falling over. Without peeling his burning nose away from the cold hard surface he raised a hand up in a wave, feeling like a clown. Leo seemed entertained enough, skating by Guang Hong a few minutes later and shooting a cheeky smile his way.

However, they’ve never kept eye contact for this long, always too shy or busy, taken in by their surroundings, feeling it to be inappropriate. Just a quick fleeting look, a moment that might as well have been imagined.

They stare at each other for a moment until Leo regains his breath and stands, bowing, stray hairs slipping from his bun. Guang Hong’s glad that he can see the curl of the other’s lips this time around and without feeling it, starts applauding, the sound of his claps echoing in the wide hall.

“Thank you kindly,” Leo says and curtsies, this time properly, pulling at the invisible material by his sides. “I live to please the audience.” The chuckle that comes out of him is nothing more but an amused rumble, very befitting of his personality and appearance. It makes the hair on the back of Guang Hong’s neck stand.

Despite the easy-going attitude and the short height, Leo is a really attractive man with his broad shoulder line and dark complexion. There’s something about the chocolate-brown messy hair, deep brown eyes and the olive skin that makes Guang Hong weak in the knees whenever he stands up. Something in his eyes, the way he looks at people, heavy-lidded and almost sleepy. Something in the mischievous curl of his lips and the dimples carving his cheeks.

He just can’t wrap his finger around it.

Guang Hong feels his face flush. His grasp on English suddenly eludes him. “You were, uhm,” he tugs at the collar of his jersey and tries again, “you were very… sensual.” Crap, now he kinda wants to smack his head, why’d he say that!? Leo doesn’t outwardly react to those words in any way. There aren’t any changes in his welcoming expression nor do his soft eyes harden with judgement. “Very good!” Guang Hong squeaks, accent spilling in. He wants to wince, suddenly embarrassed. “Ten out of ten!” He gives him awkward thumbs up, trying not to force his smile too much. He knows that he probably looks as though he’s in pain or having a seizure.

‘You can do better than that,’ he scolds himself mentally and waits for that inevitable ‘what was that I didn’t catch a word you were saying?’ but it never comes. Instead, Leo sheds his dark blue jersey and folds it, placing it on the ledge. The smile never leaves his face.

Guang Hong tries not to ogle him in that thermal sweatshirt but it’s a little hard.

“I saw you watching me,” Leo says casually and Guang Hong shifts in the seat, guilty. Exposed. He makes his way to the bleachers, sitting a few rows below and turning to Guang Hong, eyes big and shiny. “So I wanted to show you the final result – from start to finish. I’m glad that you liked it.” His smile widens. “I wish that one day I’ll like it as well.”

Ah, there it is.

“Do you not like it?” Guang Hong asks, tentative.

Leo’s smile turns solemn but does not disappear. “Not that much. But I want to enjoy it more, I want to own it. To reach out to my audience with it.” He punctuates his words by reaching out towards the Chinese boy and then curling his fingers into a tight fist as if seizing something. “But it feels like I can’t. Not yet, anyways.”

‘Reached out to me just fine’ he thinks mindlessly, but his mouth disagrees. “That dramatic movement when you –“ Guang Hong makes an overly-pained, tortured face of a dying man reaching out to a floating straw as if it’s a lifeline to keep him from drowning. Leo snorts. Guang Hong does as well. “That was pretty funny. Don’t do that again.”

“Dully noted,” Leo laughs and a moment later he pulls a different kind of ‘pained’ face, slowly reaching towards the lights hanging overhead. He looks as though he’s admiring his hand, like he’s just discovered the fact that he has one. Guang Hong cracks up, knowing perfectly well that the other is overdoing it on purpose. “How about this one?”

“Reach out with the other one to make it even more dramatic,” he offers.

They begin creating exaggerated skating elements, laughing to themselves, easy in their bizarre conversation. Guang Hong has imagined many scenarios as to how their first meeting might go, one more awful than the last, the worst one ending in complete rejection, but never, not in a million years, he would’ve thought he’d sit there with Leo de la Iglesia in the privacy of the unfamiliar skating rink halfway across the world from home, all but reenacting Titanic.

“Do you want to practice with me?” Leo finally asks, legs outstretched, toe picks clicking together as he keeps moving his feet inwards and outwards, up and down. Once they’ve calmed down, they started observing the worn black skates. “We still have some time left.”

Only then does Guang Hong realize that he’s been creeping around the bleachers while everyone else has left, observing the other boy skate like nobody’s business. Anyone else would’ve kicked him out for sticking around, doing absolutely nothing and gaping like that. Not Leo though.

That’s, uh. Embarrassing.

Guang Hong replies by unzipping his duffel bag to pick up his skates. Leo smiles, waiting.

* * *

 

Leo never makes fun of him.

Not his shabby English skills, the thick accent, his awkward aching limbs, off posture, messy landings. He lazily circles around Guang Hong like a vulture, hands folded behind the small of his back, making small loops every now and then. Leo has the grace of a ballerina when he begins humming away some cheerful pop tunes and just being himself. His hair is undone, falling over his face whenever he twirls.

Guang Hong asks him for help with all of the camel spins. Leo is the best he knows.

It all goes well at first, Leo only asks for a demonstration and points out the weak points, explains the technique behind it to Guang Hong as many times as he needs.

“Your outstretched leg keeps wavering too much,” Leo concludes and instructs Guang Hong to raise the right leg, palms braced against the low ledge near the entrance to the rink. Guang Hong obeys and almost squeaks when Leo’s palms steady his thigh, readjusting the pose a little. “Good, keep it like that. Tighten the muscle a little and – “ his other hand rests on the small of the shorter boy’s back, “bend your back a bit. Keep it in place, don’t waver. You can try to reach out with your hand like in ballet until you get the feel for the shape and the way it should feel. Make adjustments as you wish when grabbing the blade for the catch foot one but keep your back as steady as it goes, otherwise you will lose your balance or mess up the catch. “

Even after Leo removes his hands, the places they’ve been pressed against continue burning with warmth that spreads, heat intensifying. It’s weird and a little distracting, but Guang Hong tries to push the weird feeling aside and focus on practice and practice only.

By the end of their remaining hour, he manages to get a little better and Leo claps in joy as the lights switch out above them and the janitor yells at them to leave already because they’re closing.

They rushedly gather their things and change out of their skates, not having enough time to do anything about the skating clothes. The sun is barely visible over the horizon, bleeding into a stripe of muddy red above the towering buildings and the summer air is still heated, wind nonexistent.  It’s far too warm to be wearing training clothes. Guang Hong takes off his jersey while Leo continues pulling at the collar of his thermal sweatshirt in a poor attempt to create a breeze, clearly uncomfortably hot.

They end up making their way to the bus stop and chatting about skating and competitions, their idols and whatnot. Guang Hong gushes over Viktor’s legendary quads whereas Leo seems to be an admirer of Christophe Giacometti’s skating, the relaxed way in which he holds himself, confident in his programs.

Guang Hong gets drowsy on the bus, fighting hard to keep his eyes open and the conversation going. Leo takes notice of his state and quiets down, looking through the window, occasionally snapping a pic whenever they pass a more ornate building. His left arm is warm against Guang Hong’s, knees brushing occasionally. After a while the Chinese boy stops retracting it, letting it rest against the other’s.

“Well, that’s my stop,” Leo says after a while and pushes past Guang Hong, sending him a trademark smile. “You’re gonna be fine on your own? It’s already dark; I wouldn’t want you to get yourself into any trouble with the locals. ”

Guang Hong would’ve snorted at the suggestion, he’s no lost child, but the show of concern on his companion’s face is genuine. “Just two more stops. The hotel is right in front of the bus stop so I’ll be fine,” he reassures.

“Alright then.” Leo fixes the strap of his duffel bag and makes his way towards the door as the bus slows down. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Guang Hong.”

And with a final wave he’s off.

Guang Hong no longer feels sleepy.

* * *

 

An hour later he finally flops down on the single bed, hair dripping all over the white sheets and ribcage squeezing painfully. It’s a little unexpected, he doesn’t really know what causes it, can’t really pinpoint the exact reason no matter how many times he rakes his brain for the right answer, but somehow he finds himself really happy.

Happy to have made new friends, happy to be here in Canada and working his ass off. Happy to have met Leo.

He brings the pillow closer to his heated face and lets out a joyous squeak, muffling it into the soft plush.

* * *

 

When Phichit sees them sitting together the next day, laughing about one thing or another, he immediately wishes to go over there but Yuuri pulls him back, giving him one of those looks that he understands immediately. Guess it comes from the best friend connection.

‘Let them be together for a bit,’ it says.

Phichit discreetly snaps a few pics of the cute pair huddled on the bleachers and tells himself that it is finally time for Guang Hong to get introduced to SNS. He’ll thank him later.

* * *

 

Leo is an amazing friend. He helps him train, helps Guang Hong with his English whenever he has questions about certain phrases or grammar. He gladly joins him and Phichit for their sightseeing trip and poses for the pics that Phichit keeps taking at the speed of light, nearly smacking people with his selfie stick at how fast he’s turning. They hit the local shops, try on ridiculous things at the party store – Leo goes strangely quiet when Phichit puts a pair of white bunny ears on Guang Hong’s head – try out the cheapest fast food – Leo tells them which foods should best be avoided and despite Guang Hong’s complains, pays for his ice-cream, an impressive stack of vanilla completed with crushed nuts and saucy caramel.

Phichit gets them friendships bracelets – the blue-beaded one for Leo, the red one with a golden flower charm for Guang Hong and the woven yellow and green one for himself. He takes like fifteen photos of their wrists from different angles and pushes them together to pose in front of some museum.

They hug for a few minutes at the bus stop, Phichit taking a different bus going in the other direction while Guang Hong and Leo wait for theirs. The bunny ears still sit on Guang Hong’s head. Leo has small tiger ones, the headband hidden under his long hair. They look adorable.

Leo exhales for a long moment. Guang Hong looks up, confused. “That was the most fun I’ve had in a while,” the American laughs, poking at the dark blue beads of his bracelet. “I’m happy you guys asked me to join in. Thanks!”

His smile could make even the strongest of soldiers soften at the sight of it. Guang Hong’s weak little heart can’t handle it.

“I feel the same way,” he trails off, pink-faced. “I hope we’ll continue staying friends even after the camp is over.” It’s true. There are three days left and Guang Hong’s coach is saying something about leaving earlier than the rest. She has some stuff to take care of back in Beijing.

The idea of distance and the time zones scares him.

Leo hesitates for a moment before giving him a one-armed hug. Guang Hong stiffens up against him but forces himself to relax immediately. Leo’s body is warm against him, the skin of his naked arm brushing the back of Guang Hong’s neck. “Of course!” he says, eyes kind. “We’ll keep in touch for sure.”

Their bus comes.

* * *

 

That night, Guang Hong creates like six SNS accounts. Phichit is his first friend on all of them, dropping instructions and whatnot.

He’s tagged on Instagram a moment later. ‘Best day ever!’ the post reads, followed by a lot of emojis. It’s the pic of them near the museum, huddled together with peace signs and honest smiles put on display, showing off their new bracelets. Guang Hong stares at it for a while, at the growing Like count, and saves the picture on his phone.

* * *

 

“You’re really not staying for the final day?” Leo asks, legs swinging back and forth. There’s sadness reflecting in his usually bright eyes and a drop in those strong shoulders.

Guang Hong nods, feeling down himself. He continues munching on their shared soggy fries, looking up. A group of crows fly above, spots of black contrasting against a pastel pink sky. The morning breeze is gentle but the traffic is loud as ever, despite it being 6:12 am.

“I really do hope that we’ll stay in contact.”

“I’ll write,” Guang Hong promises when he swallows down the bite. He’s never had long-distance friendships before. He doesn’t know how they’ll defeat their insane time difference – when it’s the crack of dawn in Oakland, California, Guang Hong finishes up his homework and gets ready to sleep in his room located in Beijing. “Letters if I have to, seeing as it might be hard to keep a conversation going.”

“I’ll hold you to that. “Leo stands, stretching his sore muscles. This training camp was completely draining. “We should head to the rink. Kinda sucks that I can’t see you off at the airport.”

“You can see me off in the future. We’re going to meet in international competitions, I’m sure.”

“Aim for GPF?”

“Aim for GPF,” Guang Hong laughs and raises his fist to bump it against Leo’s waiting one.

* * *

 

Guang Hong hates flying. The plane makes obnoxious noises, the idea of being suspended in air where anything could happen frightens him, the AC cools his neck uncomfortably while the rest of his cramping body is positively burning, his head hurts and watching movies isn’t an enjoyable task anymore.

But when he finally steps out of the airport and sits in the back of his father’s car, checks his phone for new notifications, finds Phichit’s huge zip file in his mail labeled ‘Toronto2016SummerCamp’ and a new message from Leo de la Iglesia – a pic of a fluffy Samoyed in a red jacket with an attached note ‘I saw this and I thought of you, p.s.: hope everything’s fine on your end’, Guang Hong thinks that flying isn’t so _bad._

Trips like this one are pretty cool. He’s going to miss Canada, that’s for sure.


	2. The Inferno

Whereas the possibilities of forming deeper bonds with fellow skaters from all across the world are endless, the time zones are a force to be reckoned with, successfully cockblocking most of his attempts at communication. Guang Hong realizes that soon after he starts investing, more and more of his sleep time is spent checking his Instagram feedback and dedicatedly lurking in random Twitter tags. Usually, at 3 in the morning.

Sometimes he ends up watching cute cat and dog videos. Those are his favorite.

And when he’s not doing that, well, Phichit is always down for some ‘King and the Skater’ marathons. The time difference between them isn’t that atrocious and Guang Hong highly doubts that the Thai boy ever sleeps either way, always holed up in Twitter and interacting with fans. He’s one of those people who liveblog everything, including their half-assed attempts to sleep. Guang Hong watches the notifications ping and refreshes the page. Ten new posts show up, followed by at least two pics. One of them depicts the barely noticeable outline of Phichit’s socked feet poking out from under a flower-patterned duvet – ‘it’s too hot in here’, the description reads, followed by a frowny emoji  – and the other shows four hamsters huddled together on Phichit’s laptop’s glowing keyboard.

Guang Hong wonders whether he should offer the other another movie marathon or not. In the end, he decides against it and continues scrolling, eyes unfocused, occasionally liking stuff. Again, mostly cute animal pics and gifs of mouth-watering food.

He saves all of the dog pics into a special folder that he keeps in his phone, labeled ‘for Leo’. He’ll send them right before going to sleep.

Guang Hong turns over in his spacious bed and stares at the dreamcatchers hanging off the lily-shaped lamp above. They soundlessly move in the warm August breeze coming from the open window, their red feathers fluttering. It’s a little past 2 am.

Leo couldn’t chat that day, busy at some commercialized competition meant to boost his popularity. He’s called it insignificant and a little tedious, but participation is everything to him. Especially now.

Guang Hong sighs and checks his phone again. 2 am is his ‘think of Leo’ time, or more accurately, ‘think over our relationship and how far we’ve come’ time. Today it’s far more confusing because he doesn’t have Leo on the line with him, exchanging cute videos and talking about everything and nothing at the same time. It distracts him, mutes down his confused thoughts and more importantly – feelings.

It’s been at least two months since their first conversation and they haven’t stopped talking since. They were shy at first; mostly sending each other sweet stuff, talking about their days, changes in surroundings, comparing their respective cultures, sometimes agonizing over studies and whatnot. But in the span of a mere few weeks, their conversations have grown more serious, intimate - though they still tried to keep them light, a little uneasy at the thought of letting complete strangers into their hearts. From Guang Hong’s side, at least.

Leo seems as accepting of him as he’ll ever be.

There’s an undeniable connection between them that makes even the simplest of conversations entertaining. Guang Hong finds himself looking forward to their late-night chats, hastily finishing up his homework before losing himself in SNS.

Guang Hong's dedication to studies pulls him through and so his grades don’t drop below the usual average, but all of that comes at the expense of sleep and by extension his performance during practice. The coach isn’t amused and scolds him more than the rest for not keeping up.

“Please stop talking to that American boy, Guang Hong,” she never fails to remind him every single day as he puts his things away, ready to leave. “You will never win the Nationals at this rate.”

His rinkmates snicker behind his back whenever they see a slope in Guang Hong’s shoulders as he gets yelled at and wrings the duffel bag’s strap ‘til his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t have many friends here, all of them are too busy focusing on their own goals to even try and make good memories. A drop in the Golden Boy’s performance means more chances for them not only to succeed but to finally win the coach’s undivided attention as well.

He tells Leo about it later that night, rubbing at his dark eye bags and muffling the yawns while he waits for the other to notice the message. It takes a while for his friend to respond; the _‘typing…’_ notification keeps showing up but always disappears a few seconds later.

_‘if you’re losing sleep because of me, we can chat less?’_

He doesn’t want to ‘chat less’ and he makes it pretty damn clear, in a roundabout way of course.

So they don’t stop.

In order to save Guang Hong from becoming a complete insomniac, now finally aware of the side-effects of their long-distance friendship, Leo starts losing sleep as well. It’s hard at first but somehow they make it work, find a balance and certain time windows when they can freely chat at least for a little while.

Guang Hong Ji can hardly go a day without his daily dose of Leo de la Iglesia, the sweet and encouraging messages, the cute animal videos that the other sends the moment he wakes up and the adorable dog pics a moment before he inevitably falls asleep, wishing Guang Hong a good day. He never fails to mention the fact to some of his friends who tease him and openly encourage this rebellious friendship yet still worry over the brunet’s skating results, fuss over his worn out appearance.

His girl friends – somehow Guang Hong never fits in with the guys, they always see him as fragile, feminine, something that doesn’t quite _belong_ – swoon over Leo’s pics, cheeks flushed a soft pink. ‘How handsome,’ the girls coo, as they tear through his Instagram, scrolling just a little slower whenever they reach that one picture of Leo by the ocean in nothing but black swim trunks, one arm looped around a smaller girl – ‘Joanna de la Iglesia’, the tag reads – smiling for the camera, long brown hair slicked back. Some of his friends even recognize him, gasping in realization and pointing fingers, looking the boy up.

Guang Hong lets this piece of information innocently slip into one of their conversations and catches himself smiling when he sees Leo typing away complete keysmashed nonsense, followed by ‘oh stop it you, I’m embarrassed!’.

The girls chirp like a bunch of excited birds the moment they find out more details regarding their blooming friendship and ask Guang Hong to introduce Leo the moment the boy visits China. They say it with such conviction that even Guang Hong starts believing it, turning the idea over in his head whenever he feels particularly worn out. He’d love to show Leo around Beijing, have some jasmine tea and shrimp dumplings together and just simply relax until the sky above turns a cold cobalt blue.

Guang Hong nearly cries tears of joy the moment school lets out and finds out that he doesn’t need to take any summer classes. His finals are a little worse than usual but his parents don’t seem to care all that much, chalking it up to stressful practice.

However the hectic sleep pattern remains and insomnia stays strong. And, of course, with insomnia comes… introspection.

Right as Phichit posts yet another picture of some snack package with ‘Mr. squid, bring me a dream’ written under it, Guang Hong finally admits total defeat, kisses his sleep goodbye and pads into the kitchen to get himself a chocolate pudding. He thanks god that the coach isn’t here to see him sin like this – she’s too concerned with his diet choices, though Guang Hong is blessed with quick metabolism and never seems to gain any weight no matter how much he eats. His skin tends to break out but that too is barely visible over the freckles and moles dusting the bridge of his nose along with his cheeks. The coach nearly gets heart attacks whenever she spots some Mt.Dooms showing up on his face right before  important competitions and she always seats Guang Hong down moments before the final warm ups, dabbing concealer over his skin, complaining.

Guang Hong constantly tells her that he’s there to skate his program, not to look good for the press.

Meeting Phichit makes him change his mind a little, but that does not change the bad eating habits.

He stuffs his face and checks the phone for the nth time. Leo isn’t online, probably on his way to Detroit already. The night before, Leo has sent him a pic of his costume consisting of a tight-fitting baby-blue long-sleeved shirt, peppered in white pearls along the arms and collar, fading into white at the sleeves, along with matching pants. The program is meant to depict a failed love story between a man and a mermaid. Apparently it’s based on some strange foreign poem that his coach picked out. It’s more of a stormy tragedy than pure sappy drama this time around, so Leo assures him that he’ll make it work. Guang Hong wishes him good luck.

Leo never says anything about showing pics from the performance or sending any videos, only accepts the encouragement. Leo never shows him _anything._

Perhaps they’re not that close, he thinks, as he tries to ask Phichit something along the lines of ‘at what level of friendship is it completely cool to ask your skater friend to show you their performance vids’. Phichit immediately guesses that he has Leo in mind and replies with ‘just look him up, G, it’s not that hard’ followed by very vague explanations as to why Leo rarely shows off to fellow skaters.

That ‘just look him up’ continues haunting Guang Hong alongside the pic of the outfit that he has automatically saved on his phone. He sits with a new tab open, trembling fingers hovering over the keyboard. The moment he starts typing his friend’s name into the search bar, hot shame burns Guang Hong’s stomach, making it churn and his ears feel like embers. He noisily breathes out, curls back his fingers and then tries again and again until he finally presses enter, holding his breath.

This is no simple ‘Viktor Nikiforov 2012 grand prix fs’ search. Maybe it’s due to the fact that he’s _friends_ with Leo, slowly getting to know the boy as a person rather than future competition or just a figure skater.

The first video is of USA’s Nationals from a few years ago. Guang Hong curls up before his laptop, pulling a blanket over his head and fidgeting with its ends before clicking the link.

Leo’s skating leaves him feeling warm all over and in complete awe. He has no doubt in his mind that the moment Leo gets his groove back, he’ll definitely reach the grand stages and win gold, no less. He seems more carefree in the vid, his smile bigger, honest. Guang Hong bites his lower lip with a light hiss when the other messily steps out of a landing and under-rotates the triple axel. Leo’s a ball of energy and raw talent, rough around the edges like a diamond but the moment he gets polished, he’ll surely shine as bright as Viktor Nikiforov himself.

“He’s amazing…” Guang Hong whispers around the spoon three vids later, completely mesmerized. Whereas the older vids radiate a certain kind of glow, the more recent ones are lacking in performance points, forced and half-assed at best. They’re _sensitive_ and not at all like Leo.

Leo isn’t meant to skate to opera music, Guang Hong concludes. It’s impossible to compare Leo’s ‘Parisian dawn’ performance with the cheerful flamenco-like tune of the ‘Las Noches’ one. No way to compare the forced sincerity with the actual feel-good vibe. No way to compare the emotionless face and the sunset-colored flowy outfit with the maroon suit and the cheeky smile that makes Guang Hong’s stomach rapidly heat up.

The room brightens up as dawn dyes Beijing’s skyscrapers in pink hues and the sound of traffic grows louder. His mother rises to set up the table for breakfast.

Guang Hong decides to call it a ‘night’ and sleep in.

* * *

 

The next day, Leo calls him via Skype.

Guang Hong drops his player with a startled squeak.

Now, they’ve been chatting for a few months now, but they’ve never made a call. Even if Guang Hong is a Snapchat victim - almost as much as Leo is - and they’ve sent short vids to each other before, it’s not the same. Plus, Leo always does most of the vid-sending. Sometimes Leo films himself right before the beginning of class with his cheek pressed against a school desk and groaning loudly, the vids usually labeled ‘help me’. Sometimes he sends short vids of a shaking Chemistry book with scribbly fire drawn on it and frowny emojis plastered all over the screen. Other times the vids are from house parties and road trips, filled with funny faces and triple chins – unlike Guang Hong, Leo gets along with all of his rinkmates and they seem really close like a huge dysfunctional family that spends all of their free time together. Meanwhile Guang Hong sends Leo simple vids of the cityscape at dusk that he takes whenever he bikes around the neighborhood and footage of their old Siamese cat Māo, purring loudly like a motorboat whenever Guang Hong scratches her behind the ears.

For Leo to call him out of the blue like that is, well, _completely unexpected._

Guang Hong worries over his English skills yet again. He’s been getting way better at communicating, trying to read in English whenever he could. Leo praises him even.

With trembling fingers, Guang Hong finally clicks the answer button and is greeted by Leo’s face, his hair fanning out like a brown halo on a soft-looking pillow.

He doesn’t even get to say a hello or ask the boy about the call – it’s way past midnight at Leo’s place – when the other interrupts with a tired groan, closing his eyes. “Either kill me now or tell me about your day before I go insane,” he groans, rubbing the free palm over his face.

Guang Hong’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “Hello to you too?” he says, but then sharp worry gnaws at his stomach. “Did something happen?”

Leo shakes his head. The view moves around a bit until he sits up, phone held in lap and resting against Leo’s thigh, dim light barely illuminating his face. “Not now. Just, just tell me something. Anything.”

Guang Hong wrestles with his ever-growing anxiety for the other’s wellbeing but listens. He tells Leo about his uneventful day – it’s a Sunday and the coach is staying in Shanghai, dealing with important business therefore there’s no practice, no matter how small. He tells Leo about spending the day looking through social media and talking to Phichit, watching old skating vids together, listening to music. About how bored he is and too lazy to go outside. He even brings out the sleeping cat just to make his friend feel better.

“Say hi to Māo,” he says as the cat lets out a lazy yowl when he readjusts her on his lap. Guang Hong feels claws on the material of his shorts. “Ouch, don’t be rude now, you lazy thing,” he chides the pet and Leo lets out the first laugh that day.

Guang Hong feels something in his chest tremble and clench. He’s been deprived of that sound for so long.

“Māo, right?” Leo asks, messing up the pronunciation a little. The cat turns her big blue eyes at the screen as if surprised. Guang Hong watches her nose twitch. “Hey girl. Aren’t you the cutest?” Leo gushes and the cat slips away from Guang Hong’s grasp, stepping on the keyboard, keysmashing on the chat displayed below.

Guang Hong tries to gather the slippery noodle cat back into his arms as she sniffs at the screen while Leo laughs away. “Look, we’re bonding. I’m sure ‘afdddff’ means hello in cat.”

“If anything she’s probably insulting you,” Guang Hong grouches. “Devil incarnate.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. She didn’t do anything wrong, right, Māo-Māo?” Leo asks cheerfully and the demon cat yowls again at being called. “That’s right, she gets the idea.”

Guang Hong is pretty certain that he shouldn’t feel jealous of _his cat_ but that’s exactly what he feels. He shuns the feline away, receiving a stink-eye in return. She’s probably setting out to shred his bunny slippers again for treating her like this. “At least you’re feeling better,” Guang Hong says with a long-suffering sigh. “Now, do you want to tell me what was all of that about?”

“It’s just Alice… She’s been giving me a lot of flake for treating our possible future sponsors rudely after the competition. They were kinda getting on my nerves with dumb questions, not gonna lie. I think I pulled a muscle also,” the American says with a wince, shifting one leg. “Not my best performance, that’s for sure.”

“Alice…?” Guang Hong hums silently, more to himself than anything else, but Leo hears him perfectly well.

“Yeah, that’s my coach.”

“I see,” Guang Hong folds his legs, observing his fingers. He has a bandage on the index one, its surface covered in pink paws. “It’s a little strange when someone refers to their coach by their first name.”

“Wait, seriously? Isn’t that a common thing?”

“Not here, no. It’s Ms. Coach and that’s all. Well, you can always use the last name if you’re feeling particularly rebellious.” Guang Hong squints, tapping the injured finger against his lower lip. “Now that I think about it I don’t even remember her first name…”

“Wow. Sounds like a whole lot of unnecessary confusion to me, but hey, of course it’s bound to be different.” Leo stretches and muffles a yawn, staring at the small camera for a little while. Guang Hong shifts in embarrassment. After a moment the other finally speaks up. “This is the first time I’m seeing your room. For some reason it’s really exciting!” The sound of his voice is giddy at least as he lightly bounces on the bed.

Guang Hong flushes immediately, head whipping around. He barely contains the urge to cover the camera. The room is covered in cute décor and bathed in pink hues that come from the morning light seeping through the cheetah-pattern blinds. He remembers chatting with some skaters in the past, potential friends, or so he thought at the time, all of them discreetly making fun of his room. Needless to say they didn’t stay in contact for long, Guang Hong’s pride slightly injured by the jibes and subtle name-calling.

The lie that comes out of his mouth is almost automatic. “It belongs to my sister. Well, belonged.”

Leo perks up at that. “You have siblings?”

They never talk about their families. Leo only mentions that he comes from a huge one – mom, dad, two siblings, one younger and one older, and grandparents all living together under the same roof  – whereas Guang Hong only drops vague hints of his familial life, the strictness and expectations of his parents.

And then there’s his older sister.

“I do. She moved to the US a few months after her graduation. We were really close back in the day.” Truly, they were inseparable since Guang Hong’s birth. So attached at the hip that it made their father constantly grumble and worry about his son becoming too feminine for his liking. The amount of makeover sleepovers the two siblings had is insane. Guang Hong barely remembers going a day without messily painted nails.

He can see at least a hundred of questions flashing in Leo’s eyes. However, the boy takes the carefully-worded approach. “Do you still talk? With all this distance between you and all that jazz.”

Guang Hong smiles at the fact that he knows this metaphor in particular but the happy grin doesn’t stay for long, turning solemn. It’s a little sad. “We always try to talk at least once a month. She’s really busy with college and I’m not exactly blessed with infinite free time as well. I miss her sometimes.” _All the time_ , but the other doesn’t need to know that. “It’s quiet without her.”

His friend brightens up a little, glad that he didn’t push any wrong buttons. “Travelling all the way to the USA to live by herself, huh? Leaving the house so soon… that must’ve been a little challenging, I admire her resolve,” Guang Hong laughs at Leo’s expression. “Why here though? What does she do?”

The Chinese boy rocks himself back and forth, holding his bony, crossed ankles. Thinking about his sister makes him happy, talking about her dreams – their childhood dreams – with Leo, even more so. “Mom and dad always wanted her to be a great pianist. They set clear goals for both of their children and we had to achieve them no matter what, even if we didn’t see ourselves doing the things they wanted us to do. Ying wasn’t very interested in music; her passion lied in everything related to cinema. Script-writing, filming, even acting, and all that. Mom sent her to the best conservatory schools in an attempt to change her mind, make her realize that she was acting foolish, but the time she spent away from home made her even more rebellious, especially after she met people who had the exact same issues to deal with back home. One of her friends gave her courage to stand up to mother and voice out her own needs. Dad was so, so mad.“

Guang Hong’s too scared to look up and see Leo’s expression. His companion remains silent, waiting for his friend to finish the story. He’s never told this story to any of his friends before, baring his feelings like that strangely feels… good. However, Guang Hong can’t visualize himself talking about this with his other friends from school. Not even Phichit whom he considers to be one of his best friends.

“Dad kicked her out, told her she was being delusional. She stayed at her friend’s place for almost a week until everything calmed down. Ying came back home with even more determination and told us that she was leaving for California. Apparently she sent in an application without any of us knowing beforehand and got accepted into the college of her dreams. There was nothing they could do about it, only let her go. To be honest, I was happy for her. She finally managed to break free of the cage our parents tried to shove her into. Ying was finally ready to live on her own, make her dreams come true. At the same time I was sad, I didn’t want her to go.”

“I know how that one feels,” Leo mutters behind the palm placed over his mouth, looking aside. He doesn’t elaborate, so Guang Hong continues.

“When we were little, Ying kept saying that one day she’d make it big in the movie industry and script the most revolutionary movies. She was ready to make a huge difference, outlive everyone’s greatest expectations. Even her early ideas were amazing along with her scripts. Well, her camera-work and editing skills could always use some work, but she’s probably learning all about them right now,” Guang Hong fondly remembers the amateur movies they’ve shot, her as the camera woman and him as her main star. His sister lit a fire inside his heart and while he feels content with his skyrocketing ice skating career and never gets any urges to go against his parents, he still has some private dreams of his own. Something he hopes to achieve once he becomes too old to skate or inevitably suffers from some trauma that’ll cut his glory days short.

“You probably shot a lot of movies together,” Leo says as if he’s reading Guang Hong’s mind, smile cheeky. Provoking him into disclosing more information about himself.

He doesn’t mind it. “Oh, we sure did. Most of them are really bad though. I was her main and sometimes only actor.”

Leo cushions his head with a curled palm, smile looped. “Surely you will show me some of these masterpieces, right?”

“Don’t bet on it,” Guang Hong sticks his tongue out. “I don’t like making a fool of myself.”

“Neither do I, but a little bird told me that you spent an entire night going over my old competition vids, so we’ll have to even this out somehow,” Leo says with fake innocence, flashing his teeth. Guang Hong is going to kill someone. Someone who goes by the name Phichit Chulanont. “It wouldn’t be fair otherwise,” Leo sing songs.

“I can’t believe he told you that,” Guang Hong covers his burning cheeks, trying to will away the embarrassment.

“Oh, he tells me a lot of things!” Leo continues teasing. The phone is held before his face as he lays on the stomach, kicking his feet back and forth. “Even if he didn’t, you ‘accidentally’ shared one vid and I just happened to see it.”

Did he really? He was probably half asleep at the time. “I’m going to hang up on you now, bye,” Guang Hong says with his best deadpan expression in place, hand reaching for the keyboard, knowing perfectly well that he’s not going to finish this call but the flash of panic on Leo’s face is priceless.

“Wait, no no no, don’t! I was only kidding. You can, like, not send it if you don’t want to, just please don’t cut me off!” the American flails, the camera shaking.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Guang Hong counters. His mother is yelling in muffled Chinese for him to get his ass downstairs. “You had a rough few days.”

“You made them better,” Leo whines like a petulant child, legs flopping down. “Don’t hang uuuuup. Pleeeeease.”

“Just try to go to sleep, alright? I really do have to go.”

Leo lets out the softest ‘no’ ever, followed by a kicked puppy whimper.

Guang Hong sighs in defeat. He shouldn’t keep his mom waiting, she isn’t known for infinite patience. “Look, I’ll even send you some of the vids,” Leo’s eyes sparkle. “Only some, don’t expect more than two.”

“Yay!”

“Why do you have to be like this?” Guang Hong balances the laptop in his hands, listening carefully. His mom isn’t stomping upstairs to check what’s the hold up. That’s good at least.

The other’s smile is wide and Guang Hong begins thinking that he’s been played for a complete fool. Damn that Leo. “Don’t you even act like you don’t love me,” the American snickers, dragging out the ‘L’ word.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t.” Thankfully, his voice doesn’t stutter.

“Aw,” he pouts and Guang Hong’s ears flush. “Well, it was nice talking to you again. Almost forgot what your voice sounded like.” The blush spreads. Subconsciously, the Chinese covers his face. “Have a nice day and don’t forget to send me some vids. I’ll make sure to remind you in case you forget,” he ignores the muffled ‘be gone, devil’. “Talk to ya soon?”

“Right right, later.”

They both move to press the ‘end call’ button at the same time.

Once he leaves the room, Guang Hong’s mom asks if he’s feeling alright and touches the flushed face.

“Don’t tell me you’ve caught some virus!” she scolds and ushers him into the kitchen to boil some hot water for ginger tea.

After he slips on the wet floor for the third time, mom lets him go back to his room in order to rest up. Clearly something is very wrong with him.

He doesn’t know why his heart thunders so loudly inside of his ears.

* * *

 

After that first ice-breaking Skype conversation it becomes far too easy to just call each other at random hours of the night and simply talk. The moment Guang Hong takes a better look at Leo’s room - this time dimly lit by the sunlight streaming through the drawn coffee-brown curtains - he starts pointing out the things he recognizes, commenting excitedly. It seems that they share a lot of hobbies. Leo’s kind enough to pick up the laptop and carry it around for the other boy to see everything in the slightly cramped space. Leo isn’t the neatest person out there, clothes are strewn here and there, papers and books completely cover what’s supposed to be his desk and there’re mountains of plushies piled in the corners, resting on top of the multiple colorful pillows stacked on Leo’s bed. Most of them of are of Disney characters.

Leo seems to adore Mickey Mouse – “this is pretty tame, man, you should’ve seen my room when I was nine”, Leo says and picks up one of the older-looking toys, its black ears barely hanging on – and is a huge sucker for Walt Disney movies. They immediately plan a movie date, discussing the classics they could watch. With some embarrassment, Guang Hong warns that he tends to cry during the romantic ones. Leo only waves a dismissing hand in the air, snorting.

“It’s enough for me to hear the first few seconds of ‘A dream is a wish your heart makes’ to burst into waterfalls. I’d be more surprised if you sat through them with zero emotions on your face.”

Needless to say, they agree to stay away from Cinderella.

While Leo hums a song that Guang Hong recognizes but cannot put a name on – “’He’s a tramp’ from Lady and the Tramp, of course,” Leo reminds him and steadies the laptop – he catches a glimpse of the other’s posters. His entire ancient-looking wardrobe is covered in them, bleak from age and dust, peeling at the corners. The pop band posters look fresh, but what catches Guang Hong’s attention are the big ones, partly hidden by photos of Leo’s family and friends.

Movie posters, and not just any kind  -

“I can’t believe that you know “The Sparrow and the Moth”! No one’s ever heard of it.” Guang Hong gasps, rubbing his palms over the cheeks. They hurt from grinning. “And you even have _movie posters_? How’d you get your hands on those!?”

Leo’s wide-eyed, stunned face obscures Guang Hong’s screen a moment later. He seems just as shocked as Guang Hong feels. “Yeah well, my uncle used to work at the cinema so he simply got them for me after they canceled the screening, but what’s more important here is that, “ Leo sharply inhales, “you actually know it as well!?”

“Hell yeah I do! It’s, like, the best movie ever. Everything that Takai Montri produces is a masterpiece.” Guang Hong jumps in his seat, the bowl of chips placed beside him spilling over. He quickly puts those pieces into his mouth, chewing, while Leo sets the laptop on the edge of the table, growing completely starry-eyed at the discovery of such information.

“Oh my gosh, ohhh my gosh you like him too!” Leo squeaks in pure excitement, flailing a little. “I thought that I was the only one! I mean, I tried to talk some of my friends into watching the movies but they didn’t like them. They thought that the plot was too obscure though the main idea is so clear! I’m not sure how they didn’t get anything. How’d you even come across Montri’s work, there are barely any copies of this movie alone.”

“My cinematography-crazed sister, remember? Actually, our amateur movies were supposed to copy Montri’s style. We watch his movies every Christmas; it’s like a family tradition by now.” Guang Hong smiles, a warm feeling squeezing his chest. It’s pleasant. “Most of his works are so deep and complex, I love them. Whenever I get upset I always remember the “Dragon dance” quote: you, the one who gets pushed around by the world and starts crying at every degrading comment – “

“Shall rise from the ashes and push it back with the force of a thousand dragons,” Leo finishes for him, a solemn smile tugging at his lips. The friendship bracelet still hangs off his tan wrist, tangled with three more, catching sunlight as he traces its beads. “This line in particular pushed me through the hard times,” his voice softens; a clear indication that he doesn’t want to continue talking about this. By now, Guang Hong knows him well-enough to pick up on it. With a deep breath, Leo gets himself together. “I kind of want to get this quote tattooed on my forearm. A great reminder to keep working hard, don’t you think?”

“Would you get it done in Thai or English?” Guang Hong cautiously wonders, subtly letting the other know that he won’t be pushing the subject any further.

Leo sighs in what seems to be relief, face brightening up a little. “Thai, I think. I’d just need Phichit to proof-read first. Don’t want to end up with ‘chicken soup’ inked on my body.”

Guang Hong snorts at that. He’s seen some competition with bad Chinese tattoos before. He’s never bothered to translate the correct kanji meanings to them. Honestly, ‘chicken soup’ wouldn’t be as bad as ‘golden dog idiot’. Just thinking about it makes him laugh again.

Leo suddenly falls quiet, scratching at the side of his neck. He seems embarrassed when he confesses, “Actually, I’ve never seen the original “Dragon dance” – only the shitty English dubbed and censored version. I’ve tried looking for it all across the internet but I never found it. Well, I found a VHS at some yard sale, but the quality was so bad that it was impossible to watch. It kept glitching and the sound quality wasn’t the best. Plus no subs. A damn waste of my cash, I got so frustrated – ”

Before Leo can even finish the self-deprecating ‘I’m not a True Fan’ rant, Guang Hong is out of the bed, lights on, digging through some drawers as silently as possible. Leo blinks in confusion but keeps talking about his woes until his companion returns, a CD case held in hand. He shows it to Leo with a smug smirk.

Leo squints at the kanji written in red sharpie. A moment later those brown eyes widen in realization “Is that…?”

“My dear sheltered friend, “ Guang Hong begins, voice grave and pompous for the sake of creating dramatic tension but he immediately breaks out into a grin when he hears Leo’s gasp. “What you see right here is an original copy of “Dragon dance” complete with English and Russian subtitles. No need to cry, you can do it after we watch it.”

Leo sprawls out on his unmade bed in 0.3 second, kicking his legs back. “I’ve no idea how you got your hands on this, but we have to watch it. Right now!”

“Don’t you have school later today?” Guang Hong asks but he already knows how it’s going to end. Not that he entirely approves of this outcome but he knows that Leo won’t take no for an answer. Not now.

“Ugh, it’s just Chem.”

“You suck at Chem.”

“I’m sure nothing bad will happen if I skip one class.”

“Leo, you slept in like three times because of me.”

“Don’t fuss. It’s going to be peachy.” He says, flashing an ‘ok’ sign with a wink. “If anyone asks I’m - “ he lets out the fakest cough known to mankind. “Sick.”

Needless to say, he has the last say in this and they end up watching the movie, barely exchanging a word, entranced by the plot and the sick camera work. Their post-movie fanboy discussion is tragically cut short when Guang Hong’s father shows up on the doorstep, tells him to go to sleep and to keep it down already.

Frightened by this sudden appearance, Guang Hong quickly disconnects the call before the man can take a good look at Leo’s face and gets an earful from his enraged, cranky father, who finally begins connecting the dots as to why his son looks like a dead man walking during daytime. While Guang Hong simply takes the scolding, his phone constantly vibrates in the pocket of his pajama shorts, the screen displaying new Skype chat notifications. Leo floods him with worried messages, asking if he’s okay and apologizing for roping him into this, _oh how stupid it was of him to even suggest this –_

Guang Hong thanks all deities out there that mother doesn’t join the party, sleeping away and completely unaware of the fight happening upstairs. He’s not looking forward to facing her tomorrow, already knowing that he’s screwed and won’t ever hear the end of this.

This news will undeniably reach his short-tempered coach.

“One more sound and I’ll be turning off your Wi-Fi,” his father threatens before leaving, shooting him a harsh glare over a shoulder. His grasp on the metal door handle tightens. “Go to sleep.”

He turns off the lights and Guang Hong stands in complete darkness, fearing to move and make even the smallest sound. When he hears the door of his parents’ bedroom close he slowly crawls onto the bed, wincing at the obnoxious squeak that the soft mattress produces, dipping under his weight.

He then explains the situation to Leo, setting his phone on silent beforehand. The other keeps apologizing, guilt eating away at him.

 _‘we should probably switch up the calls. you can even hit me up at 5 am or something I honestly don’t care as long as youre out of trouble, ok?’_ his friend writes.

Guang Hong attempts to argue but thinks that the other is right. He should keep it down for the next few weeks to please his strict parents. Leo’s don’t seem to care that much as to what their son is doing during the night time as long as he doesn’t disturb anyone and ruin his health.

_‘besides I barely sleep during nighttime. I’m more into naps’_

Guang Hong huffs a mute laugh. Seems like him. The mental image of Leo napping on the bleachers after practice, sprawled out in weird angles like some house cat is too hilarious and believable.

His glee is short-lived when the other writes _‘i’ve had insomnia for like two years now’_

His finger hovers over the keyboard as Guang Hong thinks of what to write. Should he simply ignore it? Tell him that he’s sorry to hear that the other skater has sleep disorders? Ask Leo what triggers it?

_‘after meeting you it started going away I think. maybe I needed this crazy time zone difference to feel better, though I mostly think it’s just you. whenever I talk to you right  before going to bed it seems to relax me._

_or it might be that other thing haha I don’t know??_

_uh_

_you’re not replying_

_i’m sorry is this weird? did I make it weird???’_

When he notices the wall of fresh texts, Guang Hong blinks and shakes his head to clear his mind. He has zoned out after this kind of… response.

Unexpectedly, he knows exactly what the other means.

Leo stops spamming new texts reeking of badly-masked anxiety the moment he sees Guang Hong typing out a reply. He keeps backspacing over and over again until there’s a decent sounding message displayed on the screen. He reads it over a few times just in case, fixing some words. Sending it is still damn embarrassing.

**‘No, it’s alright. I completely understand. Going to sleep without talking to you beforehand is a little strange. Feels like something is really off if that makes sense to you?’**

_‘yes that’s exactly what I meant!!! it’s like? I don’t know I usually save these topics for late-night conversations, it feels a lil weird to type it out in broad daylight like this but I’m just really glad that I met you. youre like one of those people I sometimes look at and think’ wow where have you been all my life??’_

_you’re damn great and I just get so sappy when I think about our friendship like’_

**‘Like?’**

The reply comes exactly three minutes later as Leo musses over it.

_‘it’s like things have more meaning now’_

Guang Hong covers his burning face and the tight feeling inside his chest returns with the force of a tidal wave in the middle of a typhoon. He covers his mouth in case he lets out a muffled scream, gnawing on the lower lip. He then turns over in the bed, and then does it again, suddenly feeling the urge to just get up and go, speed walk around the room, around the house. It gets Guang Hong’s blood pumping to the point he almost feels lightheaded.

_‘anyways I’m not going to bother you. You really oughta get some sleep’_

**‘Don’t really feel like it’**

_‘do it for your parents??’_

Leo’s right. His room is getting less dark by the minute. The sun will rise soon enough and so will his mother, ready to give him a piece of her mind. He backspaces the ‘I’ll do it because you want me to’.

**‘If you say so?’**

_‘yep!! Wǎn'ān, guang hong!’_

**‘Awesome google translate skills’**

_‘hey at least I tried therefore you shouldn’t criticize me’_

**‘** **晚安** **!’**

_‘I know what it means, I can’t believe it!!!’_

**‘Just a question: what does your name mean? It’s lion, right?’**

_‘yeah! latin or something. and yours?’_

**‘It’s written** **光虹** **and it stands for**   **light-rainbow. My last name means season, so you do the math’**

_‘ew math_

_but damn it’s pretty sweet! and cute of course. it suits you_ _.’_

Guang Hong wishes his bed didn’t squeak so much. He can’t keep rolling around like this.

 **‘By the way, you’re going to be a constellation lion from now on, so.** **晚安** **,** **利奥** **.’**

_‘tattoo material right there’_

**‘What about the “dragon dance” quote?’**

_‘who says I can’t have more than one?’_

**‘The uptight skating community?’**

_‘it’s a good thing I don’t play by the rules then. anyways shouldn’t you be asleep?’_

**‘Shouldn’t you be on your way to Chemistry?’**

_‘touché.’_

In the end, the sun rises, his mother does as well and Guang Hong successfully pulls an all-nighter. Leo never goes to class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he named his cat 'cat'? yes, absolutely

**Author's Note:**

> since this is a new friendship, leo sends him cute doggos.  
> later on he sends memes  
> also i hate the lack of canon information


End file.
